


here and now

by sugarspoons



Category: Winner (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 19:46:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19775134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarspoons/pseuds/sugarspoons
Summary: "Kang Seungyoon." he whispers, like a prayer.Seunghoon has never stopped searching.A companion piece to "you come and go" by mainland.





	here and now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mainland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mainland/gifts).
  * Inspired by [you come and go](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4266630) by [mainland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mainland/pseuds/mainland). 



> Please read "you come and go" before you do this piece! I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since I read it, and it is so wonderful and delicate. It's perfect on its own, but I couldn't help but want to construct another end.

**5 January 1996, Busan**

"Kang Seungyoon." he whispers, like a prayer.

Blank eyes meet his.

____

_“I saw you -” He swallows, throat painfully dry. Suddenly this is something he needs to say. Now that they’re out of options, their future narrowing into one grey point, it feels incredibly important. “Heard you, singing, I mean. It was incredible.”_

_The boy’s mouth quirks. “Yeah?” he says. “Thanks.”_

_“Goddammit,” says Seunghoon._

____

For years, the boy has been an question mark in the back of Seunghoon's mind, a non-stop, gnawing curiosity. Was he— alive? Is always the first question. Try as he might, he can't forget the lurch of attraction in his chest from all those years ago on that street, when the boy sang. He sang, and Seunghoon listened. For years, he has been an itch wanting to be scratched.

And then, suddenly, it just happens. There are no fireworks, no singing birds.

It is a sunny Tuesday morning on the commute to work. Seunghoon is dressed in his suit, pressed to perfection, his hair slicked back neatly.

Then the boy with the guitar steps onto the train, and Seunghoon's neck prickles. Seunghoon has spent years wondering what happened to him. If he had made it out of the chase. If he made it through the protests.

And then here he is, suddenly, right in front of him. That the air doesn't change, that none of the passengers around him so much as blink feels utterly unbelievable. Suddenly his face feels hot and there is a weight in his stomach and his feet feel too light. He wants to surge forward and say— anything. 

So the name from that day slips from his lips in a gasp, and the eyes that look up to meet his reflect no recognition. 

____

It's Seunghoon's birthday. Song Minho reaches for the door and pushes instead of pulls, steps through the entrance of the cafe. The customary bell jingles lightly, but in the Saturday afternoon bustle, no one spares him glance.

He's come to pick up a cake for the evening's celebration, just three of them. He should've ordered in advance— too bad he didn't think to. Eyeing down the baked goods display, he notes the glaringly empty platters where the caramel cakes should be.

Stalking over to the counter to exchange a couple words with the perky cashier, he's relieved to hear that there are more cakes on the way, but he'll have to wait a while. He will, but only because it's a special day. Caramel is one of Seunghoon's favourite things. Back when Minho was just a boy working on a shrimp boat, all defined muscle and golden tan and handsome with youth, he'd look foward to one particular shipment: the Captain's gorgeous son with his big Bambi eyes and hands that spent hours clawing at Minho's back. Mostly, they would rendezvous in Jinwoo's room, where a small plate of caramel candy sat on the bedside desk. And Minho would always grab a couple for Seunghoon on the way out.

He steps to the back of the cafe, looking for a seat. It's all taken, save for a tiny two-person table in the corner where a lanky man with messy, blonde hair is hunched over a canvas, long fingers smeared with paint. Minho strides over, puts on the smoulder he knows is attractive. If anything, with age, Minho has become more in control, his charisma fiery as ever but tamed to be used accordingly.

"Is this seat taken?"

The blonde man looks up and scowls, stray locks from his rather deliberate centre part falling loosely into his eyes. "No," he finally says snappily, but the attitude doesn't take away from his doll face.

Minho smiles, and sits.

_____

That night, the three of them are crowded into a booth at their favourite bar, the cake messily half-finished on the table. All of them are sufficiently buzzed, and while Seunghoon is more than happy and thankful to be in such good company, the run-in with his past still weighs heavy on his chest.

"Fuck, dude, sounds like he didn't recognise you." is all Minho can say when Seunghoon has finished telling him. "That sucks." Jinwoo hums sympathetically, leaning into Minho's arm around his waist. 

"You sure it's him, though?" Minho prods tentatively, and Seunghoon just sighs and nods. It's been 10 years, and they're not kids anymore. But he remembers the boy from their brief encounters at the bus stop, his eclectic fashion sense, sash that got caught in the bus door, the well-washed jeans cut and stapled to be obnoxiously tight, all rock n' rags. The glint of his guitar case. But most of all his face, pretty, a little confused, sharp jaw and cherry lips.

_____

" _So?" Minho asks, flashing him a grin, "Have you found out who he is?" They're at the docks and Minho has just finished his shift, the wind is sharp and sky bleak as they pad their way over to a quick meal. Seunghoon's blood runs cold._

_His mind flashes to two weeks back as he was boarding at Yangjeong after a performance. Shouting. The boy. His guitar case. Running. Both of them in that toilet stall, faces flushed, sweat sticky on his neck and breath staccato and hot. "Now we're both fucked."— and not even in the way he'd prefer, he thinks, wryly. Despite the fear settled in his belly, despite the way he feels his voice, thickly. Feels every word in his throat. Their eyes locking. The boy lowering both feet on the ground, the dread in his own stomach surging._

_"What are you doing?" Seunghoon's useless demand. The boy barrelling out, leading the police away._

_Kang Seungyoon._

_"No." he tells Minho._

_Kang Seungyoon._

_____

A beer mug slams into the cake with a dull squelch and Seunghoon finds his elbow sunken into soft sponge and icing. Jinwoo yelps. 

To their left, a burly man has another by the collar, a second mug lies on its side, golden liquid seeping down the table in a sad trickle. One man has his fingers curled tightly around a microphone, another with his back facing them fiddles anxiously with his guitar. There is fierce shouting, someone taps drumsticks on the table furiously, "It's our goddamn stage tonight, fuck's sake!" 

"Drunk!" Minho points out, obtusely. 

Then the loud thud of a microphone hitting the floor, followed by a piercing shriek through the loudspeaker. Seunghoon flinches, chaos breaks out as a fight erupts. 

A guitar case crashes heavily at his feet and Seunghoon swears, bends to pick it up, and looks up at Kang Seungyoon. 

"You," he starts lamely, "Real guitar now, in your bag. Not posters." Seungyoon blinks. 

And then Seunghoon moves on instinct, everything else moves in slow motion. He slings the guitar across his shoulders, his fingers close around Seungyoon's wrist and he leaps out of his booth. Minho is shouting. Two guys hurdle angrily toward them. Half-pulling, half-dragging, a visibly inebriated Seungyoon stumbles along with him, Seunghoon crashes through other tables, at some point turns around and kicks out, hard, at someone's chest. 

He dodges into a corner where the light doesn't hit, makes the sharp turn and god, he's overwhelmed by a sense of familiarity, he's done this before, _they've_ done this before. 

Laces his fingers through Seungyoon's, urgently, tenderly, hauls him up rickety stairs and slams through the bathroom door. 

____

They freeze, perched on the lid of the toilet bowl, four pairs of legs awkward and uncomfortable, lifted so they can't be seen under the stall. Seungyoon is trembling against him, face pressed into his chest and inhaling quiet, ragged breaths. Out of fear or drunkenness, Seunghoon doesn't quite know.

But this scene is familiar, this scene is the one that's been haunting him all these years. Shouting outside, tension and fear and panic wrought together in a heavy atmosphere. The both of them, together, existences narrowing to a single grey point.

And it isn't love or anything quite as fantastical as that, because Seungyoon is still just stranger. Was a stranger then, too. Always has been. But 10 years ago, when their lives had intertwined, briefly, delicately— Seungyoon had made his mark, remained in the backdrop of Seunghoon's mind. And Seunghoon has never stopped searching.

So when he looks down, and Seungyoon's eyes, for the first time, are wide and glossy with recognition, triggered by this— Seunghoon wants to believe, fated— deja vu, he feels his heart lurch and his stomach race.

"It's you." Beestung lips part in a soft 'O' as Seungyoon's voice says the words. " _It's you_."

Heavy eyes flicker upwards, and Seunghoon realises he won't lose Seungyoon again.

_____

Eventually, the voices and footsteps recede.

"Do you—" Seungyoon's brows furrow, eyes focus behind Seunghoon, like he's pulling at bits and pieces of a memory. Nose pink and words heavy on his tongue from the alcohol— "Do you still... dance?"

"Yes," Seunghoon answers too quickly, eagerly. Releases a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Yes," he breathes. He stands up in the too-cramped stall, gently pulls the smaller man upright, arms still wrapped protectively around his shoulders as if he's afraid Seungyoon will disappear. He is.

Seunghoon wants to hold him, and talk, and talk, about all that happened after Seungyoon burst out from their hiding spot, after their paths diverged, the years in between. The urge, the need, to find answers, to know about this life that came to entangle itself with his is overwhelming. But something tells Seunghoon they'll have time for that later, so he settles for gently taking Seungyoon's hands in his. "I'll show you."

They sway; stupidly, silently, in the tiny, suffocating space, legs bumping clumsily, shoulders brushing against the flimsy walls, and each other.

**Author's Note:**

> The original piece really got me, bad. It was so beautifully written, capturing the transient brevity, yet impact, of intertwining experiences. It has a stunning ending on its own, but the sucker for happy endings in me wouldn't stop thinking about the possibilities. So even though the original was written four years ago, I'd like to make this contribution now. 
> 
> As already mentioned, this is written to be a companion piece/sequel so some events and language choices are made to mirror the original fic. One chunk of flashback is taken from the original fic. I still wanted to leave some things open so there isn't a lot of world-building, no individual characterisation of what they're doing now or their exact age or details like that. I wanted it to feel a little incomplete, not too perfect, focus more on exact moments within a bigger story.  
>    
> It's a little audacious of me to gift this to the author, but I'd like to convey to them how absolutely in love I am with their writing! I haven't ever written a fic, this is my first. I literally created this account just to write this because of how thoroughly floored I was by the original. I really hope that you guys enjoyed this piece as much as I did writing it. I pray this does the original story justice.


End file.
